


A Less Tragic Cliff

by Findecutie, MayGlenn



Series: Russ and Finno Verse [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Cousin Incest, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, bad quenya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findecutie/pseuds/Findecutie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a camping trip with their siblings near the northern mountains of Aman, Maedhros and Fingon strike out on their own. Leaving Maglor in charge of the others, they head for the higher passes searching for new paths and places never before seen by any among the Eldar. Up in the ridges and mountains, they find more adventure then they had intended when a rockslide leads to a close call and an accidental kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Day's Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Ages: Maedhros (), Fingon (41)  
> Time: Life in Tirion era, The Years of the Trees

Maedhros was glad to be alone with Fingon. The only two who wanted to climb higher, they had left their siblings and cousins down by the lake. Well, the Ambarussa wanted to come along, but were yet too small, and Aredhel, bless her, offered to pony them around the lake on the back of her mare. The way was steep but not yet climbing. Now that it was just he and Fingon, Maedhros breathed deep, as the great weight of six younger siblings fell away from him. Distantly he worried that they would get into trouble without him, or something would go horribly wrong, but—well—how much trouble could they really start in just a few hours? His mind elsewhere, Maedhros' foot slipped and he backslid a step. "Sorry," he said, as Fingon turned to him. He glanced back at the camp far below. "Just thinking about—" he smiled. "Never mind."

It was a smile that Fingon lived for—one that told him that Maedhros, genuinely happy at the moment, was relaxing in his company. Fingon had wanted to separate from the group both for the opportunity to explore, as they hadn't gone through these foothills before, and the chance to spend time alone with his cousin. He put a little extra care into choosing their path and glanced at Maedhros, who looked less harried than he had in months. Fingon grinned. "So Nelyo, where are we headed to this time? Are we in search of eagle's nests or honey combs or the perfect camping spot for the next time we manage to escape for a while?"

Maedhros laughed, focusing again on the rocky path. His cousin was indomitable, possessed of boundless energy—like that of all of his brothers bound into one fëa. "Lead on, brave Findekáno!" he said. "Wherever you go, adventure I am sure will find us."

Fingon smiled wider in response, nearly laughing himself. They were less than an hour away from the others and already the colors around them seemed brighter, the birdsong more beautiful, and they themselves appeared lighter of step and of mind. "No, my dear prince, where you lead I shall follow, but if you ask for an adventure I shall do my best to find one should this path fail to provide a clear sign." He paused for a moment as they came to the top of a ridge. "That way, shall we?" He pointed along the ridge towards higher hills that rose above the treeline like naked bones of Arda forced through skin and exposed to the elements.

Maedhros clapped Fingon on the shoulder and looked where Fingon pointed. It looked tricky, bordering on dangerous. Of course it did. "Yes, all right," he said. He was already feeling less weary. If only Caranthir and Celegrom had not insisted on fighting the entire ride up here—he shook his head. He was here now, with Fingon, and this was good. "We may have to climb," he warned, realizing only too late that this would only make Fingon more interested in the challenge.

Fingon did laugh then. "See? Just as you said, adventure has found us. But I do hope your mother-name rings true and you are quite well-built. We'll be climbing within the hour if there's something exciting past that." There was a point where the ridge appeared to dip down out of view before grey rock rose further on. He took a deep breath, enjoying a moment of closeness with his cousin, before taking the lead as they moved along the ridge, dislodging loose rocks even with as light of steps as elves were wont to make.

Maedhros skipped over a few tumbling stones before he moved beside his cousin, taking the outside edge as they made their way ever steeper, until they began to need to use their hands. "Careful, not so fast," Maedhros asked—he could _ask_ with Fingon and still be listened to (sometimes), bless him—laying a hand on Fingon's lower back to steady him as he skidded slightly. "Three firm holds. You won't beat me to the top if you fall and break your neck. Who would I have to go climbing with then, 'eh?"

His cousin was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation. And until the reforming of Arda and even beyond that Fingon would fervently deny the several seconds’ consideration he gave to slipping with greater frequency. But then came pride and the rest of Maedhros' statement. "A race, cos’? We could do that. It would be glorious indeed—the two of us, scaling the worst the mountain can throw at us as we take a direct ascent across rivers and up sheer cliffs. But, if you insist, this climb can be a bit slower. Just for your comfort, since you'd be left with Macalaurë and Tyelkormo for company if I broke my neck. That and you'd end up explaining the situation to our fathers, which would be fairly awkward... Though I'd hope you could at least give me a valiant send off—maybe describe me launching myself off the cliff and landing on the back of an eagle for a ride or securing your safety before, in an unforeseeable tragic series of events as I alighted on the top the rock or threw myself onto a ledge behind you, the rock around me gave way and I stood a moment on air before I dropped through it as well, plunging to the distant ground." He threw his friend a hopeful look.

"Your imagination, Findekáno!" Maedhros laughed, giving him a last steadying push before working on his own next handhold. Then he snorted to himself. "I can imagine atar and Uncle Ñolofinwë fighting over whose right it would be to punish me for my transgression. In the scheme of things I might escape unscathed, though Turukáno would probably hunt me to the ends of the earth. Even if I ever forgave myself—" he shook his head: these were morbid thoughts. "All the more reason for you to not do this to me." He was breathing heavily now, for the climbing was difficult, and the air was thinner here. "All right?" he checked.

"Of course! We're heading to the top of one of the watchtowers of Arda, the world spread below our feet whichever way we choose to go. We have fresh water and food with us, it is bright and clear, and you are with me. Better than alright is more accurate." He stopped for a breath as he pulled himself up a particularly complicated bit of rock before pausing on a stable looking shelf, "but alright will suffice if it must. And you, dear Russandol?" He offered a hand to help pull Maedhros to what looked like a decent spot to rest.

Maedhros smiled, painfully bright at his dear cousin. He paused to catch his breath next to him—now that they stood on the same shelf he towered over the smaller elf—and he brushed a strand of jet-black hair behind his cousin's ear. "I am with you, Finno," he said simply: all he needed to say. He held Fingon's gaze for a moment too long before glancing back down: "Look how far we have come!" he exclaimed, and then, glancing up, "Not much further to go. We shall make it yet." But he laid a hand heavy on Fingon's shoulder to still him, peering at the way up. "I think if we veer to the left we will do better," he said, pointing, as he tossed russet hair out of his face.

Fingon took a moment to regain his thoughts. Half a minute ago Maedhros was smiling at him, barely a handsbreadth between them. There were flecks of silver and perhaps gold visible in his eyes at this distance. Fingon smiled slightly; for a moment he had thought... "As you said, left and up. I think we've less than two hundred feet vertically. Shall I lead on, Nelyo?"

"Do," he said—with Fingon going before, Maedhros could remain unnoticed in his depraved admiration of his younger cousin's form— "I will make sure you do not fall."

Fingon cheerfully chanced a glance back at his cousin, who had indeed been watching him closely. "You do realize it's been... I can't even remember how many years it's been since I've had a serious fall—and don't even say it." He went back to climbing, letting the wind carry his words down. "Anything involving _your_ brothers does not count as falling. It is being pushed, pulled, cajoled, terrorized, tripped or otherwise tricked and does not reflect at all on the person flat on their face or back at the end of it." He had reached a fissure to the left where Maedhros had guided them. The top was almost in reach, and the last leg of the climb would be the easiest.

Maedhros sighed wearily. "Don't I know it. Just this morning I barely stopped Curufinwë from poisoning the twins—I hope accidentally—" he ground his teeth. "And if I'm worried about you it's your fault, telling me I'll have to relate your heroic death. I'd rather fall myself. You're going to drive me to Mandos just as quick as my brothers if you're not careful, Finno," Maedhros said with a sad smile. He had nothing to worry about, of course, for Fingon's steps were sure and quick, and more than once Maedhros lost track of his own holds and had to backtrack for a better ascent. When Fingon reached the top Maedhros was still a few feet below him, not right behind as he had been, and as Fingon heaved himself over the edge and looked down, Maedhros had to smile sheepishly up at him.

"You know, for once I don't know that I can blame Curufinwë. Though I wonder what set him off this time." Maedhros sounded sad again, wearied where minutes ago he'd been enjoying the day, the adventure, the company. Fingon finished pulling himself over the edge, carefully testing its strength to ensure he wouldn't take the quick route back down. He turned back to offer Maedhros a hand one more time. "Alright my daring cousin, let's see what we've discovered. Who knows, we could be the first elves to ever stand right here, in this exact spot—the first to see this view and feel these winds. Isn't that something?"

With Fingon's help, Maedhros made it to the top, rather gracelessly, but safely. He had to force himself to look around at the view, for the only sight he desired to see was his cousin's visage. Still, the light of the trees, Telperion waxing and Laurelin waning, reflecting off the mountains, the stream, the trees, and the lake below, painting the sky mixed gold and blue, was a beautiful sight. He sighed, placing his hand at the back of Fingon's neck and squeezing gently. "Magnificent!"

"I love this, you know?" Fingon murmured, pressing back. "We could be the only elves in all existence, in this moment, looking at undiscovered lands." He shrugged lightly. "It reminds me of finding new paths through the undergrowth when I was little. You used to let me lead you on new adventures and would pretend the new route fifty feet over from the path we'd created was the most amazing thing. I miss that; though this time the discovery could be real, which is probably a nice change for you." He turned in towards his cousin with a smile.

"I always enjoy our adventures," Maedhros corrected, the smile still there, but in all seriousness: then he laughed. "I was rather less worried about you in those days when we went no further than uncle's back yard." Maedhros looked back at the skyline, his fingers lingering on Fingon's neck, tangling in his hair.

Fingon closed his eyes briefly, relishing the contact, then brought a hand up to dig into his cousin's locks in turn. Where Maedhros led he would happily follow. "When did we stop doing that Russ? I miss you."

Maedhros smiled sadly. "When we came of age, I suppose, and our fathers required more of us. Such is the life of the firstborn." He pressed Fingon closer to him, embracing him with both arms. "I miss you, too, otorno."

Fingon clutched his cousin with his free hand gratefully. As glad as he had been to see Maedhros relaxing, he needed this himself just as much. "Russandol. My hero, my cousin, my friend." Who was probably about to push him away for behaving like a clingy toddler. Russ gave him an inch, and he took a foot. Fingon let go and pushed himself back to leave a couple of inches between them. Smile, bright eyes, and go. "So where to Nelyo? Shall we stop here to eat and enjoy the scenery, go left, go right, or forward and down?"

"Sit and eat, I think," he said, slinging the pack from his shoulders. He unearthed his water pouch and handed it to Fingon first, before he proceeded to lay out their wares: dried fruit and meat, and waybread. "We should wait at least until Telperion is brighter before attempting a descent."

"Mmm, you spoil me, cousin." Fingon found the dried fruits first, with several of his favorites constituting the mix, and dropped easily to the ground to sit and look out. He divided his attention between watching Maedhros and studying the new landscape. They were looking down the opposite face of the ridge, into a valley only partially lit by waves of light from Telperion and Laurelin, broken as they spilled through the nooks and crannies of the stone. Apart from that the area was lit only by starlight reflecting off of tiny streams running down the hills like silver threads, and mirrored in a glassy lake some distance away. "So what next? Remain up high, or head to the lake, or is there a stream or rockface to head to—anything in particular that's caught your eye?"

"Well," Maedhros said, washing bread down with water, "I think we should head back to the others, once there is a bit more light. I'll need to put the Ambarussa to bed, and make sure the others eat a proper supper. You know Arakáno has a horrible sweet tooth. And Tyelkormo—"

"Kanafinwë will look out for them and put Ambarussa to bed; as much as he enjoys leaving all the little terrors to you he's more than capable of keeping track of them. Valar know he did it often enough when we wandered away in the past. And as for you, Russandol," Fingon slid behind him, hands digging into his shoulders, "you deserve a break. A chance to do something fun without worrying with them." He dropped his arms around Maedhros' neck in a loose hug and tucked his chin over his shoulder. "Please?"

Maedhros melted into his touch. "Mm, but Finno—" he tried, but Fingon's breath tickled his cheek, and he was small again, begging for one more game before bed. Maedhros sighed and laughed. "Ah, Finno, you know I can deny you nothing. We will stay out a bit longer."

"Through the night," Fingon countered. "We could head down to the lake, and if the area looks half as nice up close as it does from here we can make do with Yavanna's provisions." He dug his chin to Maedhros' shoulder playfully. "Besides, you've always made the best pillow! Maitimo," he added, tone turning more serious, "even father and uncle make time for themselves. Father spends time with mother and at parties, and uncle brings the most fantastic creations of his mind into being. If this is half so peaceful for you as me, could you not achieve some similar relaxation and recovery in this way?"

Maedhros turned to look sidelong at his cousin, and smiled. "With you, cousin? There is no place I would rather be." He pressed their noses together playfully, and reached up to hold Fingon's arms around his shoulders. "Very well! I will stay, restore my fëa in your company, and be as well as I could ever be. And if we arrive back in the morning and no one is dead I will call the excursion a victory."

With that the rest of their day was decided, though Fingon rarely had to twist Maedhros’ arm much if it was clear he truly wanted something. Then again, he had never pushed for what he wanted most, outside of his cousin's company, sworn brotherhood, and love. He detatched himself from his older cousin and braced himself on Maedhros' shoulders as he stood. "Shall we? Forward into the shadowed lands of starlight and silver water! Forward as the light of Telperion waxing contends with the twilight then draws back in its waning, lest the secrets of the hidden valley come to light!" He grabbed his cousin's hand in his, tugging lightly to convince Maedhros to rise.

"No, stay--" Maedhros said, tugging back. "I am yet tired from the way up." He lay back and tried to make his arm look an inviting pillow. "Let us see what the stars tell us tonight."

Fingon flopped down bonelessly, tactfully managing to avoid hitting Maedhros on the way down. He rolled onto his side, one leg dropping over his cousin's as his head came to rest on Maedhros' upper arm, his hair escaping its plaits and mixing with Russandol's mane. He grinned, face once again inches from his cousin's. "I suppose... if you insist. But this way I can see the stars above us, and," he pointed across Maedhros' body, "our valley. Where we are still going later, right?"

Maedhros smiled, turning to glance where Fingon pointed. "I promise we will. And we shall name it after you, since you provided the impetus for the exploration. Findekáno's Canyon." His eyes looked past the valley to the stars above, and he curled his arm around Fingon's back, scratching up and down his spine.

"Surrounded and guarded by Maitimoronti?" Fingon shivered slightly from Maedhros' ministrations. "Ahh, truly you do spoil me, always." He relaxed further into the warm body next to his and matched his breathing to his counterpart's. "Is there nothing you would ask of me? No gift or favor I might give to you?"

Maedhros turned to look Fingon square in the face, and took his cousin's chin in his thumb and forefinger. "You have already given me two—your presence and convincing me to stay the night—three, even, for stargazing with me: four for naming the mountain for me. Findekáno, you should never feel the need to give me anything."

Fingon wanted to stay in this moment, gazing into Maedhros’ eyes for the next age. He wanted nuzzle into the hand touching his face, and hold him so closely neither could say where one ended and the other began. He wanted to punch his cousin in the face for being an oblivious idiot even as he was saying things that left Fingon flying as high as the most distant stars on the edges of the Outer Sea. He wouldn't get the first, so he opted for the closest he would get to the second, crushing himself against his cousin for a moment and closing his eyes, before pulling back, propping himself up on one hand, and slamming a fist into Maedhros' shoulder.

Maedhros jumped to be so accosted, and also sat up. "What? What's wrong?"

"Do you begrudge me your presence? Is it some terrible effort to pack foods I like best, some necessary duty to let me lay upon you or to stroke me into restfulness? Nelyo, I—" he choked himself off, rethought his words. "Russ. Is it so impossible that I should _want_ to do anything in my power for your happiness? I don't feel the _need_ to give you anything. I do not feel the chains of duty or obligation betwixt us." Though surely such family bonds were there to be felt were he not bound more tightly by something altogether different. He turned half away from his cousin, instead choosing to look to the stars."I love you, Russ. So terribly much." He sighed. "Everyone says we've been joined at the hip since I could walk; I suppose you could say it's really only self-serving to _want_ to care for my other half."

"I—" Maedhros frowned, sitting up fully, reaching after his cousin. "Finno, you misunderstand me," he said firmly, "if you mistake my desire to make you happy as duty. And you discredit me if you think I cannot both love and have a duty to you." He huffed, and, "Come, I am sorry if I offended you," he said more gently, taking Fingon's arm and turning him round again. "I shall make sure to pack only _my_ favorite sweets and savories the next time we go on an adventure," he teased.

The corners of Fingon's mouth curved up slightly. "And you mistake me Nelyo. I never thought it was a burden to you. Well, not now. I have enough perspective to realize I was a more than trying child at times, and that you have the patience of a Maia. But can I not desire your happiness as well?" He reached out a hand to sooth the area he had hit. "You know me almost too well, Russ. And sometimes I hate how much of a loss I find myself at when it comes to pleasing you. To knowing the perfect little word or gesture that will make your day brighter. And I'll try whatever I can think of in hopes of chancing upon the right thing at that moment. Because finding it, giving it to you, that _would_ make me truly happy." He dropped his hands with a sigh and leaned forward to press a kiss against the bruised shoulder.

Maedhros turned, kissing Fingon's coal-black hair before he could move away, and smiled. "Yes, I misunderstood. I am sorry." And then he took both Fingon's hands in his and kissed them. "Otorno, you _always_ know what to do to make me happy, you need not seek for it. When you were smaller and gave me stones you found in the dirt, these gifts made me happy—because you gave them to me. But if you wish to give yourself a challenge I will not stop you. Who could?" he winked, held Fingon's gaze a moment longer, and then peered at the lightening sky. "We could make our descent safely now, I think."

Fingon could still feel Maedhros' lips upon his head as he began the trek down the gravel and along rockslides towards the treeline below and the lake in the distance. Maedhros, as on their way up, stayed close behind him. It was comforting, though he found himself searching for reasons to look back—studying the silver and gold light as it crested the ridge, checking on the new view back towards the pass—and glance at his cousin. They were quieter, but it was a comfortable, safe silence. 

They were almost two thirds of the way down and moving along the outer edge of a boulder-ridden area that appeared prone to rockslides when the stones directly below them shifted. Fingon tried to push himself back, but the slab of rock under his feet was already falling, the stones around it plummeting to the small lip at the bottom of the incline and off a drop the height of which could not be guessed from where the cousins stood.


	2. Chapter 2

"Finno!" Maedhros cried, skidding down after his cousin, heedless of the danger, eyes flicking below and above, taking in the trajectory of the slide. "Hold on!" he shouted, but this was redundant, of course, because Fingon was holding on, and because half a second later his hand closed around Fingon's wrist.

 

Fingon was surrounded by air and thrown up dust for a few moments, experiencing a sort of vertigo the Firstborn were not mean to feel. Then a hand was around his wrist, grounding him, and he closed his fingers to hold that anchor as tightly as he could in a mirrored grip.

 

As he braced himself on the overhang, Fingon dangling below, rocks still fell all around them, slamming into his back hard enough to bruise, and Maedhros did not need to look again to know that more trouble was behind them than below them. There was a horrific crack behind him, and a split-second of dread that they both might go pitching forwards into the valley below them. With a grunt of exertion and a strength that surprised them both, Maedhros hauled Fingon up toward him, clasped him around the middle, and pulled back, spinning. They slammed into the rock face behind them, Maedhros shielding Fingon with his body as a huge boulder crashed down over their heads, obliterating the portion of the shelf they had been clinging to moments before.

 

Fingon stared at his cousin as he regained his equilibrium. He was crushed between Maedhros' strong body and hard rock. They both remained frozen, listening to the last crashes and rumbles of shifting rock. When all has been silent for a long moment Fingon could no longer hold back. He laughed, loudly, the sound echoing through the surrounding moraine. "Nelyo." He smiled and shook his head, wrapping his arms around his cousin's shoulders and pulling himself up, wrapping himself around his cousin's solid fame. "By the Valar. Nelyo."

 

Maedhros still held tightly to his cousin with his left hand, his right clinging to the rock face in a deathgrip, burying his face in Fingon's hair. He had not realized he had stopped breathing until he gasped, and panted to regain his breath. He shuddered, unsettled by Fingon's laughter. "Findekáno," he whispered. "I almost lost you." He did not move away from where he pinned Fingon protectively against the cliff.

 

"Never, Nelyo." Fingon shook his head slightly. "I'd never leave you." He chuckled, lightly. "Your work, our positions, and eight siblings between us can't keep us apart. How could a mountain possibly?" As he finished speaking Fingon looked up to catch his eye at the exact moment Maedhros turned his head. Pressed up against one another amidst the rising dust and changed landscape, their lips brushed. Maedhros jerked back slightly, though Fingon noted that his cousin's grip on him never lessened. Unconsciously he chased the kiss for an instant, seeking not to deepen it, but only to maintain that faint contact, soft as a feather, that left them entirely connected—heads, bodies, legs and feet pressed together as one against the mountain.

 

Maedhros gasped as their lips brushed accidentally, and he bridled, but Fingon followed him, drew toward him, and his cousin was clinging so tightly to him and they were so close, and Fingon had very nearly _died_ , and before he knew what he was doing, Maedhros was deepening the kiss, pressing Fingon closer to the rock and stealing his breath. Without thinking, he released his hold on the rock above them to lay his hand on Fingon's shoulder, to brush his thumb against his pale throat. Fingon felt better, tasted better, smelled better than in his dreams.

 

Fingon gasped, his equilibrium entirely gone this time, and barely parted his lips. His cousin, his chosen brother, his best friend, the only person he had desperately wanted desired him in return. It was more than he had ever dared imagine. Maedhros turned back into their kiss, pulled him closer, and even clothed there was so much contact—so much skin. He tilted his neck into Maedhros' hand, and pressed his lips slightly harder against his cousin's. His right arm wound around Maedhros' back to clutch at the fabric of his tunic as though it were his last link to sanity. Finally, he opened eyes that had drifted shut to meet his cousin's fiery orbs.

 

They separated, Maedhros giving Fingon's lips a last gentle swipe with his tongue. "Findekáno," Maedhros whispered, voice dangerously gravelly, and he pressed their brows together, sharing each other's breath for a few desperate pants. "I--" he was about to say 'love you,' and he meant that, with all his heart, but, "am sorry," was what came out. A giggle erupted from his chest. "That was incredibly forward of me!" He drew back and looked around them. "We still might proceed safely down. I think there is a path here..."

 

Maedhros could make mountains of molehills but also molehills of mountain, and his ability to build up and take down Fingon were indelibly linked. He was going to say he loved him. He was _going to_. And then he ground was torn out from under Fingon for the third time, and it was by far the worst. "Russ." He paused and wet his lips; his voice had never sounded like that before—low and torn. "Russ, _please_? Stop. Can you look at me, just for a minute?"

 

No, no he couldn't, Maedhros knew. He could not look at Fingon. What had he been thinking?! Fingon was his cousin, and not even of majority! And now he wanted to— "Findekáno, please," he begged, but Fingon had begged him first, and Maedhros was ever unable to deny his cousin. He broke all physical contact and slowly, shamefully met his cousin's eyes. By the Valar, they were so blue, and his lips pinker than he had ever seen them.

 

Fingon pressed his fingers to his lips as he tried to find enough balance to move. Maedhros' eyes were shuttered and he looked about to cry. "Valar, Russ. I've never—you know I've never..." He took a step forward, another, and he was within Maedhros' reach again. Light flickered off of something at his foot, and he stooped down, grabbing bits of black stone that glittered as though their depths held captive stars. He glanced up at his cousin. "Why are you sorry? Because I'm not. I wasn't expecting that, but I'm not." He met Maedhros' gaze firmly, then a corner of his mouth lifted. "Is this the answer to that challenge? Because you said you wouldn't stop me. And you know I have no idea what I'm doing," and it hurt, it burned that Maedhros probably did, "but I thought we just had this conversation. You have nothing to be sorry about, because what pleases you pleases me equally if not more so."

 

Maedhros looked down again, his face hot with shame. That Fingon returned his affections in the end only made his worse. How could he have been so weak? He was being cruel. "Please, Finno, let us get down, first," he said, half-pleading, half-ordering now. "We will talk then. There is a step just there, and plenty of handholds. I will go first, follow close and watch where I am going," he said, and swung himself down.

 

Fingon fought an intense urge to roll his eyes. Even if some things were changing, others, it seemed, would always stay the same. At least now he had a few minutes to figure out what to say to Maedhros, who was probably already listening reasons why he had to deny himself this bit of comfort, of happiness. He swung himself over the edge easily, though with a slight bit of glee he avoided following his cousin's path exactly, deviating to draw closer to an interesting boulder or outcropping of rock as he followed his cousin towards green plantlife and cool running water.

 

The valley, Findekáno's Canyon, was beautiful, albeit marred by the recent rockslide: the metaphor was not lost on Maedhros, and he ran a hand over his eyes. Fingon's entire body radiated energy—too much energy, while Maedhros felt drained. Defiling one's most beloved cousin really took it out of you, apparently. "Findekáno," he began, breathing and speaking carefully, "I am sorry. What I did was wrong, and I wish you to know that I meant nothing by it."

 

Fingon's fist clenched. He stopped walking and trembled slightly. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, opened them. Before he had been vibrating with joy. Now he felt cold and still as the deep ice in the far north. He kept his eyes charting paths down the mountain and avoided Maethros entirely. "Cousin. I am going to pretend that what you just said did not happen. I am going to walk away, and we can both take some time to think about what just happened. I will meet you at the lake whenever we both happen to get there, and we will discuss whatever needs to be discussed." His voice was as dispassionate as Uncle Fëanor’s when confronted with amateur craftsmanship from one of the senior apprentices, and that should have been a terrifying thought.

 

Maedhros dipped his head instinctively, lowering his eyes to the ground before he realized why: Fingon sounded like his father when he was worse than angry—when he was disappointed. Maedhros sucked in a breath, and when he lifted his eyes, Fingon had disappeared into the trees and it was too late to stop him. 

 

Well, he supposed he deserved that. He deserved worse, really. Not looking forward to this conversation at all, Maedhros followed after his cousin, feet dragging.

 

Fingon left quickly. They had reached the treeline and he chose an arcing path that would take him to the lake eventually, but would likely be a different route from that Maedhros chose. He continued to breathe deeply: in through his nose, out through his mouth. Maedhros couldn't! He would happily wait another century if that was his cousin's desire, but to steal his first kiss and then treat him like some worthless slutte, nothing more than an experiment? Russ had to be lying. He most likely was lying. Russ couldn't do this to him. He wouldn't. He. Fingon paused, leaning against a moss-covered trunk. The more he thought, the more his head hurt, and he slowly dropped it to his knees, clutching his hair with both hands.

 

Maedhros was heedless of his surroundings, and got turned around and lost a few times. He didn't care, really. How could he have let himself slip? It was bad enough to have been harboring something more than familial love for his cousin for as long as Fingon had been alive—but to have let it slip, to show him, to admit to it out loud, to dishonor him like that—it was unforgivable. Fingon deserved more. He deserved better. He needed a chance to live, to grow, to learn to love properly, not simply imprint on the face that could not stand to be apart from him from the day of his birth. 

 

When the lake finally came within view, Maedhros' stomach dropped, but he straightened his shoulders. He was determined to remain firm, for Fingon's own good—even if it meant losing him forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Maedhros was staring across the lake when Fingon arrived. He kept his tread quiet as he moved closer, trying to observe what he could of his cousin's mood. Maedhros had something of his mother's firm stance in him, but now he looked desolate. Did he hate Fingon that much? No. Fingon shook his head. This had to be something else. And despite everything, he was here. He still came. Fingon slipped into 'his' place at Maedhros' elbow, joining him in looking out at the far shore and the distant stars. 

"Russandol."

Maedhros did not hear Fingon's approach, and gave a full-body shudder as he stepped in next to him, in part wanting to weep and beg his forgiveness, in part wanting to snatch him up into his arms and never let go, in part simply surprised at his arrival. All parts of him were agreed in this: he loved Fingon, and would honor him and do right by him. 

"Finno," he said, took a steadying breath, and turned to face his cousin. "I am sorry for—" he grimaced, clinched his fists (wanting to reach out, to hold, to touch, but not daring, knowing he would not get through this if he did), began again. "The—what happened between us—no thing that ever passed between us has ever meant 'nothing' to me. I was wrong to say it. But you must believe me when I say that where it began so too must it end, for your own sake. Because I love you more dearly than I love myself."

His family well knew that anger did little to turn Maedhros from a chosen course. Fingon sometimes had slightly better luck than the others, but it was still a tactic with long odds. Instead he would approach this sideways, and pretend, at least, to have a position of power. He did not turn to face Maedhros as he spoke. 

"Your apology has been noted." Fingon’s mouth thinned slightly. "What happened between us, which I believe would more rightly be called a kiss? Is just that—something that happened between us. If you are upset because of my age, in a few decades these few years will be as nothing, and I am perfectly willing to wait for that. Though I would point out that you appeared to be perfectly attracted to me on the mountain—though I will bow to your greater knowledge of such things." He glanced sideways at Maedhros. "If it is the lack of experience you find unattractive at present I can fix that as well, however I will be candid and state that I have no particular interest in finding other Eldar to develop such skills with."

"NO!" Maedhros shouted before he could stop himself, causing Fingon to look at him in alarm. He immediately backed down, breaking eye contact, and, "I—I mean. Yes?" He was painfully conflicted. "I mean, you should look to others than me—for yourself, not because I would have you gain 'experience'," he spat: the thought of his cousin gaining 'experience' made him ill. "Findekáno, you cannot love me. I am cousin to you, more mother than lover. It would be morally reprehensible for me to monopolize your affections before you have even come of age!"

"You have never been mother to me. I have a mother, Anairë, and have never looked for another." First thing first, that had to be corrected. "I cannot love you? But you can love me? Because that's what this is about, isn't it? Russ, I never dared dream—" He sighed. "We are a few paltry years apart and both, along with Macalaurë, bonded in the role of older siblings dealing with the rest of your brood and mine. If you want me to wait for an arbitrary date, some make-believe line to step over that is perfectly acceptable. Russ, you want me. And ever have I adored you—first as hero, then as cousin, then as comrade and sworn brother, and finally as the other half of myself. You know me well, but I should think I know the depths of my own heart better than you. You do not monopolize me, how long has it been since we've had time together? And," he paused, mentally counting over the points. "Did that cover everything?"

That Maedhros' heart soared and fluttered at Fingon's words only made this hurt more. His face crumbled, his hands twitched. He wanted to shake Fingon. Instead, he stumbled back a step. "I—I will not debate this with you. You are too young," he offered weakly.

Maedhros was giving up on some of his arguments, which Fingon would count as progress. "Too young, not for this, but for you?" Fingon grasped his arms gently. "Then I will wait for you as you wait for me. Russ, this is something I never thought possible, but to know that I have your love for the briefest moment and then to have it retracted is more than I could bear—"

"—You will always have my love," Maedhros interrupted, his voice stern. 

"Then give me a time when we can revisit this, and we will go back to camping, and exploring, and getting you to relax a bit before we rejoin the brood." He smiled for the first time since the cliff. "Though if I may I would ask one small favor of you."

Maedhros swallowed thickly, his mouth dry as he tried to draw back, but Fingon held him tightly and he did not wish to jerk away violently, not when everything was screaming at him to move closer, hold tighter—kiss again, just a taste. "Please, Finno," he whispered, not sure if he was asking Fingon to wait for him, or begging for mercy. Finally daring to meet his eyes: "You know you have only to ask, dear cousin."

Fingon's eyes closed momentarily of their own volition. "Russ... my Russ?" It came out half as a question, but no words had ever sounded sweeter. "A date, then, to revisit this, to discuss us, and one other thing." His heart quickened. "I could not have asked for a better first kiss, excepting how it ended. So a second kiss, to seal this accord, and to leave each of us with a better memory to hold on to until whatever day you decide."

"I..." Maedhros was numb with shock, with elation he was too frightened to allow himself to feel. He stepped back again without looking where he was going, his foot hitting a stone and with a cry he ended up sitting down hard on a large boulder behind him. Fingon followed closely, and now Maedhros was looking up to his cousin: his brave, noble, darling Fingon. And in this moment he was selfish, in this moment all he wanted was right in front of him, and he snatched at Fingon's hands—

And no, they did not burn him. He had not sullied his Finno, he had not tainted himself, become unworthy of Fingon's purity. He had not ruined them—they just might yet remain close, retain their more-than-friendship, not damaged by broken hearts. Growing bolder, he reached up and touched Fingon's cheek. "When you reach the age of majority," he blurted out, suddenly. "If you can wait—if I can wait a few years, and if you still—then yes. When you are old enough to wed under our law. Nine years from this day, we will return to this place." He stood up now, again towering over his cousin. "As for a—kiss—" Slowly, trembling visibly now, Maedhros dipped his head to taste Fingon's lips, caressing them chastely, almost reverently, and oh so gently, holding back the fire that flared up in him at the contact. How could he wait nine more years for this?

And yet he would wait nine centuries for this if he had to.

Fingon pressed his face into the crook of Maedhros' neck, breathing deeply. "If that is your desire, then nine years from today." He smiled slightly. "Perhaps a few weeks closer to my begetting day if I can talk you into it by then." He let his weight rest against his cousin as Maedhros held him close.

"Findekáno, you must—" Maedhros said, pulling his cousin close and kissing his hair, but he sighed and did not continue. "Thank you," he whispered instead.

"No thanks necessary. I love you, I love you, I love you." If they were about to let this conversation rest, that was the ending Fingon wanted for it. A deep breath later and he pushed himself back, straightening and looking around. "So, anything interesting or exciting around here, Russ?"


	4. Chapter 4

Maedhros let out his held breath in a laugh, and shook himself. "I—I only just stopped here, Finno." He let go of Fingon self-consciously. "The lake seems quite far to swim, but we could make a journey of it. And there are some good diving rocks over there," he said, pointing with a long arm.

 

"Well, shall we? You had me at 'diving'—actually at swimming, but either way. Let's go!" Fingon grabbed his cousin's hand, pulling him in the direction Maedhros had indicated. He felt lighter than he had in years, as if he could jump up and brush the stars if he so desired. "And maybe grabbed some sea grass to go with our leftovers? I'll be ready for food when Telperion wanes."

 

"Aye, as you say," Maedhros said, and laughed, surprising himself with how wonderful it felt. He began to run as Fingon pulled him along, and soon they were laughing and running together. As they crested a grassy knoll, Maedhros tugged hard on Fingon's wrist and nudged the back of his knee with his foot, and he tumbled forward. Laughing, Maedhros left Fingon in a heap and ran on.

 

Did he just? He did. Fingon laughed aloud, pulling himself to his feet and sprinting forward. He began undoing his tunic, ready to dive straight in if he had to in order to catch up. "Russ! When in Manwë's name did you start channeling Curvo?" He shouted ahead as he ran, panting, towards the higher ground near the nearby rocky section of the lake.

 

Maedhros did not waste breath in replying, long strides carrying him ahead of Fingon. Afraid Fingon might retaliate, he too worked at the buttons on his tunic, in case his cousin tried shoving him into the water. Also, there was a glorious outcropping just ahead, perfect for diving from, and Maedhros rounded on it, pausing to kick off his boots and leggings, nearly stumbled as Fingon pounced.

 

Fingon dove at his cousin, confident that years of sparring and training would keep them from being seriously injured on the rocks. While Maedhros was well ahead of him in terms of height and body mass, Fingon had spent years around Maedhros and Maglor and had adapted his methods of rough housing to account for this. As it was, he got close and launched himself up from the rocky ground, bowling into Maedhros at an angle and sending them both tumbling.

 

With a cry, Maedhros went down, but he had been expecting the attack, and he had been unbalanced, his leggings still attached to one foot. He rolled, wrapping his limbs around his cousin and pinning him to the earth at the edge of the outcropping, panting as he smirked down from above.

 

Fingon stared up at Maedhros. If one of his brothers had done that, he would have felt the need to turn this into an all out brawl to prove his worth. But he would happily stay here, like this, with Maedhros if not for his agreement to table those feelings. Deep breaths. "Alright, alright cousin, you've got me. But what will you do with me?" He kicked Maedhros leg gently. "Shall we check out the edge? I'm more than ready for a swim. I feel like I'm caked in dust, dirt, and more recently grass stains." He gave Maedhros a Look.

 

Maedhros' grin faltered as he realized what he had done—too far, of course—naked tackling your naked cousin was too far by anyone’s standards—and he could not say it was entirely accidental. But neither did he want to make this adventure more awkward than he already had. "Ah—" he said, letting Fingon up. "You will go first," he said, nodding at the outcropping.

 

Fingon jumped to his feet, darting forward for a quick look over the edge before walking backwards, stripping off his tunic, shoes, and leggings. "Ah, you might want to back up a bit, Russ. And make sure you jump out pretty far—those are some nasty looking shards of rock at the bottom." He nodded seriously, watching Maedhros' face, before laughing and sprinting for the edge, diving as far out as he could into the perfectly clear, still surface of the lake.

 

"No!" Maedhros cried out in alarm, rushing forward—but of course there were no rocks at the bottom. "Findekáno, you little terror!" he shouted as Fingon surfaced, knowing he had been repaid. Fingon laughed, and Maedhros dove smoothly into the water beside him.

 

Fingon began swimming towards the center of the lake, wishing to avoid Maedhros until he'd had at least a minute to calm down. But the look on his face _was_ hilarious. He wondered briefly if such thoughts suggested he was spending too much time around Ambarussa, before shrugging off the idea. "Oh, that was priceless, Russandol!" He paddled backwards watching his cousin surface. "Your _face_!"

 

After surfacing, Maedhros realized his cousin was swimming away from him—but he wouldn't keep away for long. "I was worried about you!" he said, pumping his arms to come after him. "Twice in one night, Fingon! The first wasn't your fault—but—the second was—" and now he was in range, and leapt on Fingon, bringing him under the water.

 

Fingon managed half a breath before he was pulled under, suddenly weightless in the glassy water, looking at emerald green plants, more than a few fish watching him back, and sandy patches with miniature rippled dunes formed by the water's movement when last it rained, and suddenly watching Maedhros hair billow out and invade the scene. He tugged on his cousin’s arm. This was a bad time to start laughing. A very bad time, given that it would result in him having to cough up part of the lake.

 

Maedhros immediately jerked Fingon back up to the surface, legs pumping to keep them both afloat. "You wretch! You worried me half to death—on purpose!" They splashed under the surface for an instant, and Fingon shook his head, hair plastering to Maedhros' face. "If you wanted my attention, cousin, you have it!"

 

Fingon reach a hand up to ruffle Maedhros' wet mop. "Honestly, Maitimo, the Ambarussa do worse to you on any given day." He sighed. "Surely you know I wouldn't do that to you today." That Maedhros had worried for more than the briefest moment was unsettling. Still, it was nice to be in Maedhros' arms again, and fairly clean for once. "Maitimo?" He pushed away slightly to look his cousin in the eyes.

 

Maedhros released Fingon enough for him to swim on his own. "I expect it from them. And I—" he paddled closer, but trailed off. "Yes, Findekáno?"

 

"Did you know that your hair just traumatized a never-before-seen species of fish? Several of them, I believe."

 

Maedhros laughed. "Well, you can be the first to discover them, I shall be the first to traumatize them." Taking a deep breath, he flipped over and dove beneath the surface, his long hair fluttering after him.

 

Fingon smiled, taking off after his cousin. Maedhros appeared to be headed towards the side of the lake they had first arrived at and would make for a good campsite. Hurrying to catch up, he smirked at the fleeing fish, and with a grab managed to latch onto Maedhros’ feet for a ride.

 

Releasing a huff of bubbles, Maedhros gave Fingon his hand so he could use his legs to pull them along, though he supposed at this distance he might be drowning his cousin in his hair. Passing multicolored fish, they surfaced for air and went under again, darting in among the rocks, picking seaweed, chasing fish.

 

They stayed in the lake until the land around them began to darken, finally pulling themselves out of the water. Each had an armful of plants to add to dinner, and they set them drying on the rocks. Fingon took off to retrieve their clothing, though he was not entirely enthusiastic about doing so.

 

"Fin, stay," Maedhros said, catching his wrist. It was not cold, but pleasant, and the waning light painted the sky orange. "Just stay. We shall go back for them later, and I will hold you if you get cold." He rested on a large flat rock, still warm from Telperion's rays, and pulled Fingon to lie beside him. And before it could get awkward— "And I promise I will not try to kiss you again," he stated firmly.

 

Fingon would do anything for Maedhros, and had been determined to abide by the boundaries his cousin had set down, but when Maedhros did things like this... He cuddled into Maedhros' larger frame, happy to bask in the last dimming gold and silver rays that fell across them and nap for an hour or two.

 

“I—I’m sorry,” he tried, drawing back from touching Fingon before tentatively brushing his cheek with his fingers. Between the close call and the kiss and Fingon’s promise, he was simply flooding with love, so much that it ached. “I just want to hold you, Finno,” he whispered. “May I? Would it be too forward of me? After all I’ve put you through today, I—I dare not ask it. But I just—”

 

"Nelyo," Fingon sighed, leaning into the touch. "Anything you want is yours for the taking—I thought that went without saying. But as for holding me—you've been doing that since I can remember. I feel safe with you, and would have naught but the most peaceful rest in your arms. If you would enjoy the same, how could I be so cruel as to deny us that?"

 

Maedhros smiled—then he laughed, almost giddy with relief. He was yet worried that he had irreparably damaged their closeness by bringing them too close too soon, but his worries were unfounded. He pulled Fingon close and tucked him under his chin. "Are you warm enough?"

 

"Mhmm." Fingon snuggled closer. Maedhros smelled like lake-water and mountain air and something unique that was solely him. The area around them still held lingering heat from mid-day, and he felt that he could lie here for hours or days and not tire of it. "Wake me in a few hours?" He mumbled. "We'll want s'm food."

 

Maedhros did not sleep, taking in his cousin's presence, his scent, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his breath. 


	5. Chapter 5

When the lights had fully waned and it had begun to grow cool, Maedhros kissed Fingon's brow. "Time to wake up, Finno," he said, lifting and carrying Fingon over to where their clothes lay.

 

Fingon woke slowly, like a swimmer pulling out of deep water, and came to full consciousness in complete comfort. He looked around. "Russ," he murmured, squeezing his arms around Maedhros' neck once, quickly, before moving to his clothing. "You've let me sleep too late. The light is fading and we haven't even started to set up an area to rest through the dark hours."

 

Maedhros shrugged. "I could not bear to wake you, you looked so peaceful," he said with a grin. "And we could sleep under the stars. I do not think we need erect a tent, and we both can see well enough, only—" he touched Fingon's nose playfully, "I miss the color of your eyes in the dark. Here, eat." Maedhros again laid out their dinner.

 

Fingon shook his head in amusement. "I'm not completely helpless, I'll have you know." Nevertheless he took what Maedhros offered gladly. "Russ?"

 

"But I like looking after you," Maedhros said sheepishly, and then met Fingon's eyes. It was not yet so dark that their blueness did not steal his breath. "Yes, Finno?"

 

Fingon picked at the whisps of hair surrounding one of his braids in distaste. "I think my hair is making a valiant escape attempt. It's no longer even bothering to be subtle." He grinned at Maedhros. "If I go wash it out completely will you help me re-plait it?"

 

Maedhros grinned. "I would like nothing better. We could even—" Maedhros' eyes were drawn from Fingon's, impossibly, as the light faded and as a blue halo lit up the water. "Findekáno—look!"

 

The beach and shallows of the lake were lit up as though thousands of tiny stars had fallen and were captured there, sand and lake both mirroring the sky above. Both elves stopped for a moment, enjoying the wonder. _This_ was surely something new—something amazing—what Fingon had always wanted to discover with Maedhros. It was a good sign. He laughed in exhilaration and headed towards the water, untying his braids and loosening them as he walked. "Well? Are you coming?"

 

Maedhros was distracted as much by the lights as by Fingon's hair coming loose from its tresses, and lingered before following his cousin into the water. "I—yes—" he said, stumbling into the shallows. That the stars were mirrored in the lake was one thing, but that the lake also had stars of its own was—mesmerizing. "What—what are they?" he wondered, reaching down to scoop some into his hands.

 

"Your guess is as good as mine. Your father would love them, though," Fingon added. He scooped a handful of water up, peering at it as Maedhros was already doing. He shrugged, and ducked under the water, curious to see if the tiny specks would cling to him as he rose.

 

"Findekáno," Maedhros grumbled slightly to himself—it was getting too cool to swim, and drying would be harder. Though, he thought, if it went anything like it had previously, he supposed he should not complain. And when Fingon arose from the lake, he was— "Finno, you're covered in them!" he cried, open mouthed and blinking at his cousin's beauty.

 

Raising an arm up, Fingon stared at it as though it were not his own. He was covered in hundreds of flecks of light, sticking to his skin even as the water ran off him. "Maedhros this is incredible!" He spun around, splashing water at his cousin. "Your turn, isn't it?" He cocked an eyebrow, wondering if Maedhros would be willing to go under as well. He would look incredible radiating starlight and with hundreds of the lights adorning his hair—a true prince of the Noldor, head and shoulders above the rest in beauty and adornments as well as height.

 

"Me?" Maedhros laughed, but Fingon was serious. Fingon was—eyeing him closely, and he was unsure if he should be concerned or flattered. "Ah, you think?" he said uncertainly.

 

"What can it hurt? And surely the prince of the Noldor deserves a starry raiment. It would become you, I am sure." His tone changed to a light tease. "Or are you scared of a few lights, Russ?"

 

Maedhros rolled his eyes. "I thought only of the chill, cousin, and of keeping you warm. But," he waded further out to meet his cousin, "if you insist." He did pull his hair up, and tied it in a quick knot. "I would rather not deal with both of our tangles twice in one evening," he explained.

 

Fingon smiled, and slipped back into the water's embrace, kicking himself out further as Maedhros sorted out his hair. "As you say," he replied with a slight shrug, and ducked back below the surface. The lights were suspended at all depths, forming a field of lights in all directions. He poked at a few, watching the water move them away, before swimming up for air.

 

"It truly is a marvelous sight," Maedhros said, paddling easily out to meet his cousin. "To have stars in the lake! It is like swimming in the sky." He reached out and pulled a string of weed from Fingon's hair. "Now if I am to sort your hair out into any order, we should retire and dry off. I shall use the light of our second set of stars to braid by." He pulled Fingon toward the shore, and wrapped his cousin in his own cloak. “Now,” he said, and drew Fingon onto his lap, curling his knees around Fingon’s hips. “Hold still.” He carded his fingers through Fingon’s hair, dislodging a few stars as he did. “Tell me if it hurts.” 

 

"It's fine." He tilted his head back and smiled at his cousin. "And even if it wasn't, how much harm could something so beautiful do?" The fingers running through his hair felt wonderful—one of Fingon's strong personal dislikes was having things caught in his hair, dirt in his hair, or his hair escaping to do whatever it wanted, and over the course of the afternoon and evening he had been dealing with all three. "So, are you trying to pull them out, or will you leave me with a crown of stars?"

 

"I shall leave them in as much as I can while still clearing the twigs and weeds from your hair," Maedhros said, carding through Fingon's hair with his fingers. He huffed: "They are clinging to your hair. It is lovely." Finally his hair was as tangle-free as it was going to be, and starting from the top Maedhros wove many small braids into Fingon's dark tresses. "You look like the night sky. Or the lake."

 

Fingon snorted, looking around them. "Hardly. But this is a beautiful area. As much as I'd love for this place to be ours, at some point perhaps we should bring the others." He paused for a moment. "Or just Irissë and Macalaurë. Maybe Arafinwë? Or not." He shrugged lightly.

 

Maedhros smiled, weaving the braids together as he reached the nape of Fingon's neck. "You are right to think of the others. I am content to share this night with you alone." He kissed Fingon's hair, knotting it at the end with a gold thread pulled from his trousers. He then pushed the braid aside and nuzzled Fingon's neck, wrapping arms around him. "You should get dressed," he said, reaching for Fingon's tunic and tugging it over his head, as he would dress his younger cousins and brothers.

 

"Very funny," Fingon groused, reaching to fasten his garments himself. If Maedhros was so dead set on waiting, he needed to pull back a little. Not that Fingon wanted to complain, but... he needed a little space, this time for a reason completely different from earlier that day. He would abide by Maedhros' wishes, but that meant distance and settling his mind were a necessity. "I'm a little too awake to sleep, so I'm going for a quick run; I'll join you in a bit if you're settling down here." He pushed onto his tiptoes to land a kiss on Maedhros' brow.

 

"I—" Maedhros started, wondering if he had done something wrong, but he nodded. It would be better for both of them. "Yes, go. Enjoy. I will rest here. If you—" he struggled slightly, tried not to make this painful, really, but in case they needed more space: "if you find somewhere better to sleep, I can meet up with you when Laurelin begins to wax."

 

"I'll be back!" Fingon was slightly surprised with how quickly and emphatically the response came. "I just, need to run for a few minutes. Two thirds of an hour? Just wait for me. I'll be right back here. No matter how restful any other areas may seem." He caught Maedhros' eye. "Alright?" Is this Alright? Please let this be fine, Russ. Let me have this, so that I can do what you need me to do, be what you need me to be.

 

Maedhros smiled so bright he nearly wept. "I will always wait for you, Findekáno," he vowed solemnly, and kissed Fingon's brow, and turned back to their packs to set up camp.

 

Fingon ran through the forest, staying close to the edge of the lake. He headed left this time, sprinting fast enough to feel a chill wind and for his legs to threaten to cramp up. Finally he stopped, jogging to the water's edge and staring over the lake. He could see the camp Maedhros had set up in the distance. He smiled ruefully, wiped his brow on the edge of his tunic, and began jogging back along the shore.

 

Maedhros kept busy, gathering driftwood and making a small fire, hanging their clothes to dry and laying out more food. Fingon was still growing, after all, and—yes, he had brought it, good—he could use a drink of wine after all that.

 

Fingon walked the last few minutes back into camp, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His thoughts were more collected by the time he saw Maedhros, sitting with his back against a tree trunk. He had set out more food and fresh water, and Fingon felt his heart quicken again as his cousin looked up at him and smiled. He grinned, and dropped to the ground next to Maedhros. "Good evening, 'cos."

 

"Evening," Maedhros replied, his smile easier now that he'd had a fortifying drink. "How was your run?" He motioned to the place beside him. "Did you see anything interesting? Nothing to report here, except that more stars washed up." He gestured.

 

"The run was nice. The ground is a bit clearer out that way; I headed through the woods for a while and back mostly by the lake. There's a stream about twenty minutes jog that way. No fallen stars, but the water is cool and brisk." He leaned his head on Maedhros' shoulder. "How were things back here? Get hungry?"

 

"No, but I had a bit to drink." He held up the wineskin as evidence. "Would you like a taste?" He peered at Fingon carefully. "The stars held to your hair," he added with a smile.

 

"I wonder how long they'll last. You do realize they're in your hair as well?" Fingon pulled gently on a strand before relieving Maedhros of his wineskin. "Did you eat already, or shall we now?"

 

"We should eat now, I think," Maedhros said, flushing slightly as Fingon caught at his hair. "And, forgive me, you should drink water, first, after your run," he said, snatching the wineskin back with a shameless grin and giving his younger cousin water instead.

 

Fingon rolled his eyes. "Really?" Nevertheless, he took the water and sipped at it, half scooting, half rolling to sit by the food spread. "This looks wonderful... and not just because I'm particularly hungry right now." He caught Maedhros' eye. "Thank you."

 

Maedhros smiled and shrugged, elbowing Fingon companionably. "It was nothing." He took a slice of bread with honey for himself and nudged the plate over. "Shall we rest here or head back after we eat? I suppose they won't miss until next light. And I haven't seen signs that the forest has caught on fire, so the odds that Turukáno and Carnistir have not tried to kill each other yet are good."

 

"Heh. Too true. I would stay, if you are agreeable to it." He polished off a piece of bread before accepting the wine again. "I think I'm about ready to sleep after this- it's been a long day." He leaned into Maedhros affectionately, then straightened. "Again, if you are agreeable."

 

Maedhros pulled Fingon once again into his shoulder. "I am most agreed to it. We will rest here, wait for light, and return, and tell of our adventures—well," he laughed and blushed, "most of them, anyway." He tossed his now-dried cloak over Fingon's shoulders.

 

Fingon felt a hint of color come to his cheeks as well, and he allowed himself to slouch into the warm cloak. He yawned. "Shall, we Russ?" He indicated to a comfortable looking area Maedhros had readied to sleep in. "I wouldn't be adverse to falling asleep in your arms again."

 

Fingon's obvious trust in him, even after today, especially after today, warmed Maedhros' heart, washing comforting over him after cold fear. "You know I would like nothing more," he said. When they were finished eating, Maedhros packed up the last of what they didn't finish and got out the bedroll, tucking a now-shivering Fingon against him.

 

Fingon relaxed into Maedhros' arms, and sighed quietly. He meant to stay awake to enjoy this, but his eyes drooped shut as he listened to the sound of waves on the shore and the wind in the trees, and felt the steady rhythm of Maedhros' heart against his skin. The last thing he recalled was squeezing back gently as Maedhros threaded their fingers together. He sank slowly into sleep, perfectly happy and feeling both complete and whole.

 

Maedhros slept eventually, but only reluctantly, and only pulled there by how perfectly contented he was. He slept, Fingon's head on his arm, smelling his hair, watching him breathe, their fingers tangled together. Maedhros slept, and dreamed of nine years from this moment.


	6. Chapter 6

Fingon woke as the light of the trees waxed, and crept into the valley and across the lake. He turned, nuzzling against Maedhros' neck and wrapping an arm around his cousin. They would not be able to do this often (not until several years in the future... but it was too soon to think about that), and he was hesitant to let this feeling go. He smiled as Maedhros' arms tightened around him in sleep, relaxing into his hold and watching Maedhros fondly as he waited for him to wake.

 

Having fallen asleep later, Maedhros was still deeply asleep when Fingon woke. With Fingon safe in his arms, he felt as if he could sleep forever.

 

Fingon rested for a while; they had both slept past the time they would usually rise. But then, the previous day had been an especially long one, for all that it ended perfectly. Finally, as the light crept through the trees and the sounds of the awakened forest grew louder, Maedhros began to stir in his arms. Fingon smiled as his cousin's eyes fluttered and he felt the arms around him grip him a little tighter, the heart next to his speeding up slightly.

 

"Mmm, Findekáno?" Maedhros slurred, squeezing his eyes shut tightly before opening them, blinking into Fingon's smiling face. He squeezed his cousin tighter briefly. "Did you sleep well?"

 

"The best I've slept in years." Fingon grinned widely, moving a stray strand of Maedhros' hair from his face and tucking it behind an ear. "And you?"

 

"I would rather have not slept," Maedhros admitted with a shy smile, and returned the touch, staring into Fingon's blue blue eyes for a moment before he looked up at the sky. "Oh!" he said, flinching slightly. "We slept overlong. Sorry. You should have woken me."

 

Fingon leaned forward, resting his head against Maedhros' shoulder. "It's not so long, and I fear we were overtired. Yesterday... was terribly long for all that it ended well, and had some of the most significant high and low points of... the last decade at least." He brushed a gentle kiss to Maedhros' forehead as he leaned back. "Hungry, cousin?" He rolled away, pushing himself to his feet. "I suppose it's past my turn to prepare a meal."

 

Maedhros laughed. "I do apologize for the 'lows,' cousin, and for the inordinate excitement," he said, pushing himself up to an elbow. "And we should eat quickly. The others will be missing us."

 

"You mean Kanafinwë will be missing his beauty sleep," Fingon teased. "Tyelko too if your brother has pressed him into service coralling the twins." He began to set out the last of the bread, cheese, and dried lakegreens. "Promise me that we'll come back here again?" He tossed over a waterskin as he sat himself before their food spread. "This is one of the most... incredible areas we've found, even aside from its importance to us personally. I want to walk every deer trail here, cross every stream, find every secret clearing and perfect length of beach. And I would greatly like to do so with you, if I may have you along for the adventure."

 

Maedhros smiled again, wounded with love. He had to take a drink of water before he could speak: "Of course, Finno. You know I would love nothing more." He reached for Fingon's hand, took it, and squeezed it. "It is beautiful, here." As beautiful as you, he did not add. "I am glad we found it. We should always return here."

 

"Always." Fingon's eyes danced. "How do you want to head back? The way we came down seemed... rather unstable. Shall we brave it, knowing what areas to be particularly wary around, or head left or right striking a new path?"

 

Maedhros considered, and stood, stretching and peering around him. "I think it might be wiser to cut straight through the trees here." He pointed. "We might need to cross the river, and there will be some climbing, but this way is more direct, I think." He looked back at the mountain. "I would rather not try that again any time soon," he admitted. "For all that the view was unparalleled."

 

"That sounds good. And it was, truly." Fingon sighed, draining the last of the water and grabbing their skins to refill them in the lake. "Ready to take off, then?" He called back as Maedhros finished clearing the area.

 

"Aye," Maedhros said, slinging the bigger pack across his shoulders. He grinned at Fingon. "Would you like to lead the way? We seem to have much more interesting adventures when you go first."

 

Fingon slid his arm through Maedhros'. "Perhaps... perhaps this time we might lead together?" It was half statement, half question, but they began walking, arms linked, as he waited for Maedhros' response.

 

Maedhros laughed. Sometimes he could not believe what a wonder, what a precious gift, what a joy his cousin was. Sometimes he tried considering whether it was Fingon who was so perfect, or if Maedhros was somehow designed to believe in Fingon's perfection. He squeezed Fingon's arm in his and pulled him closer, causing him to stumble. "I think that is a wonderful idea."

 

They forged a new path through the forest, crossing streams lightly and wandering through sun-dappled grounds that no elf had yet trodden. Birds called out, and water danced over rocks, and Fingon laughed in delight as they carefully made their way over a log that bridged a deeper ravine. It was a slower path, but one that seemed almost hallowed- as though they wandered through a sanctuary of Yavanna's theme. Maedhros would grab his cousin's hand and squeeze, and Fingon looked over and grinned with delight each time. After a few hours, they paused to scuttle up a tree and get a better feel for their bearings, as the ground was both heavily forested and the twisted, unlevel land found at the feet of mountains. They followed this pattern for the better part of the day, winding through the feet and ankles of the hills, and eventually locating a lower pass that had been hidden from sight on their earlier crossing. At the far side, they climbed a last time.

 

"Now do not fall this time, Findekáno," Maedhros teased, but he placed his hand on Fingon's back to steady him in all seriousness. He wanted more from this moment (so much more, and damned if he wasn't going to spoil this singlehandedly if he wasn't careful) so he averted his gaze and looked out over the landscape. "Ah, see, we are quite close!" he said brightly, though the thought of sharing his cousin with anyone else actually irked him slightly. He pointed out the lake by which the others were camped. He could see their tents, and the horses, and the camp was active. Now he smiled. "Shall we race there? Not from here," he added quickly, holding onto Fingon as he went to move. "When we both touch the ground. The race should start from then."

 

"Really? You are on!" Fingon answered quickly, before Maedhros had a chance to rethink this, particularly given his cousin's recent obsession with safety. He swung down quickly, stretching slightly as he hit the ground. "Come on, Russ!"

 

Maedhros paused at the lowest branch, not touching the floor. "All right, cousin—let us see if you've finally grown into your legs." He waggled his eyebrows playfully and swung his legs a few times still without touching the ground, making Fingon flinch at least once in anticipation of the race. He paused, memorizing the route ahead of them, mapping out the route he would take, before deciding he would rather run with Fingon: yes, run behind Fingon, and overtake him at the last. He jumped, hitting the ground running.

 

Fingon took off after his cousin, ducking to the side. He had noted a route that would take him over slightly rougher terrain, but also led through thinner areas, where it would be hard to run in sync. He bared his teeth in a smile that was part snarl, careful to stay below an all out sprint for the first section of this race. This must be what it is like to join Oromë on a Hunt—this feeling of wind across skin and soft earth underfoot where nothing seems to exist except the hunter and the chase.

 

Maedhros veered to slightly higher ground and, as Fingon pulled ahead, he fell into close step behind him. He planned his steps that they ran in tandem, and close enough that if he breathed harshly, Fingon could feel it on his neck. He laughed and smiled wickedly to himself, wondering how well the tactic of distraction would work, and knowing their proximity would probably irritate the free-spirited Fingon.

 

Fingon felt Maedhros behind him from the beginning, and while he knew that Maedhros had several years (and inches and pounds) on him, it was irritating enough to pull him out of the hunt, the chase. This wasn't dogs or horses racing through the forest; this was a cat playing with a mouse. He swept the area ahead as they ran downhill, still a good ways from the camp. Finally, as he rounded a small rock outcropping he swung himself into the wall, muscles cramping slightly as he forced himself to swing around, launching himself onto Maedhros as he came around the corner. What was grandfather's saying? Anything is fair in love. And his father's: all is fair in combat. Put together they described his situation aptly, as he launched himself across Maedhros, locking his legs around his waist and arms around his neck, and burying his face in his cousin's neck, not quite working to leave a mark, but subtly threatening it.

 

Of all the things Maedhros expected Fingon to try in the desperation he was driving him to, _this_ was not one of them, and he was not (too) ashamed to say that he startled like a skittish horse, crying out. Losing his balance he went down backwards in an ungraceful flail of knees and elbows, with Fingon attached to him like a starfish on an unsuspecting clam. "Fin—" he began, and then there was breath, and _teeth_ , on his throat, so he went still and silent but for his ragged panting. He had grabbed hold of Fingon before, but now he let go, let his hands fall to his sides in—surrender? A kind of surrender, anyway. He was suddenly dizzy.

 

Fingon had thought Maedhros would keep running while halfheartedly trying to toss him off, or stop and kiss him. He hadn't been expecting his feet to fly out and both of them to drop. As they hit the ground his mouth closed reflexively around Maedhros' throat. And then he felt Maedhros _yield_ to him. Of all the things he could have imagined at that point, all the things he had ever dreamt of between them, never had there been this complete, willing surrender. Maedhros' arms fell to his sides and his entire posture opened. Fingon trailed kisses across his throat, brought one hand up to wind in his hair, and trembled.

 

Maedhros whined before he could stop himself, throwing his head back as Fingon kissed him. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing against Fingon's lips, and shivered at the sensation. His hands were shaking until they tangled in Fingon's braids, and completely at the mercy of his baser desires, he pressed Fingon's lips into his. "Oh, Valar help me," Maedhros whispered into Fingon's mouth as, eyes closed, he wound his arms and legs around Fingon.

 

Gasping, Fingon pulled back to meet his cousins' fiery gaze, unable to stop grinding slightly against Maedhros, who was wrapped around him as though trying to meld them into one person and who kept _moving_. He whimpered, pressing his forehead against Maedhros'. "Russ, Russ," he gasped out. "By the Valar, my Russ. Oh, if you don't stop—" He bit his own lip harshly and yanked on Maedhros' hair. As Maedhros' looked up in shock at the unexpected pain, he managed to lift himself slightly, putting a hair's breadth between them. "Nelyo, is this what you want?"

 

"I—" Maedhros blinked, and shuddered, and blinked again. "Yes," he blurted out, but just as quickly his eyes regained their focus and he turned away, blushing as bright as his hair, "Fuck, I did it again." He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. "I am so sorry." But this was just a continuation of a theme that was discordant now to his heart, so: "Fingon, of course I want you. I can't stop wanting you. If I am to wait for you for nine years I do not think I can see you in the meantime, and such a separation would break my heart." He wrapped his arms around Fingon and pressed him to his chest. Maedhros licked his lips. For the first time in his life he did no idea what to do.

 

Fingon clung to him. Maedhros wasn't meant to sound so lost. "I—I don't know if I can lose you Russ. We barely see one another as it is—would you intentionally leave a room as I walk into it for the next nine years? I just. Perhaps you can do that—but then, you've always been the stronger one." He pressed himself as close to Maedhros as he could trying to memorize this instant, and knew he was being given a Look. "I wish your father could build something that would suspend a moment in time so that I could hold it and keep it with me forever." He sighed. "You can stand to lose this?"

 

"No," Maedhros gasped. "Never. It would—" There were no words for what that would do to him. He swallowed with difficulty, and then laughed. "I wish my father could build something that would speed up time." He lifted his head to kiss Fingon's temple, and clung to him as if his very life depended on it. "Only I would never forgive myself for stealing your youth."

 

"I am not a child." Fingon buried his nose in the crook of Maedhros' shoulder. "In fact by the customs of our people, technically we're betrothed now." Maedhros looked at him. "Perhaps we can enjoy that for the next few years? If some things are to wait, they can wait. But know that I would not be sundered from you for so long that years would seem to stretch to the breaking of Arda, so slowly would they pass." He paused for a moment, smiling. "I love you, remember?"

 

Maedhros gave pause: he wanted to argue again, but all his excuses sounded just like that—excuses. He _loved_ Fingon. This was not a vice, but a virtue; and Fingon was a man, if not yet by law, and if Maedhros loved him he ought also to respect him and respect the desires he so plainly stated. And as Fingon's words sunk in, battering down the walls of his (propriety? tradition? cowardice?) flimsy excuses, Maedhros smiled. He laughed. Without letting their bodies part an inch, Maedhros flipped them over, so that he was now on top, his hair falling in waves over the both of them and hiding their faces. "I love you," Maedhros admitted, as he should have done before (as he ever should have done, Fingon should have grown up with those words echoing ever in his ears, unashamed of their full meaning). He kissed him deeply. "I love you. I will not lose you. I will not be parted from you, Findekáno. We are betrothed: you are mine and I am yours. We will wait only for consummation, under the law—I will not wait to love you. I am sorry I ever suggested any different." He crashed their lips together, his kiss desperate and brazen.

 

"Nelyafinwë," Fingon uttered in a low groan when their lips parted. He arched into Maedhros, plastering them against one another from thigh to chest, and threaded his hands back through Maedhros hair, tugging lightly on it. 

 

A moment later he heard a soft sound—something large treading on the forest floor nearby. He jerked back, tapping at Maedhros' shoulder and rolling out from under him, drawing a blade as he did. He shot to his feet, Maedhros perfectly in sync, and they found themselves face to face with Celegorm and Aredhel, who stood, frozen, having been running through the woods moments before stumbling upon their cousins.

 

Maedhros stammered. "Turko! Irissë! I—we—we were just—"

 

Aredhel was blushing slightly, but Celegorm laughed. "It's a good thing we found you!" he said, his voice exaggerated with mock-concern. "You might have been badly hurt having fallen on Findekáno like that. Are you both all right?" 

 

Maedhros glowered, and Aredhel grinned at him sidelong, catching on to the joke: "Oh, yes, what luck. My poor brother looks absolutely crushed!"

 

Fingon took deep breaths; now that he realized they were in no danger he began trying to calm his body and mind. "Weeellll," he drawled at Maedhros. "I suppose of all the Eldalië who might have found their way out here, this is probably the best of all possible pairs." He grinned at Aredhel. "Dare I ask what _you_ are doing out this way, little sister? Or perhaps I should be addressing that question to my much loved cousin."

 

"Which one? And are you sure I shouldn't be asking that of you?" There were few beings in Arda with such a great gift for sarcasm and dry humor as Celegorm. Fingon loved him for it. And, at moments like this, he dreaded it somewhat. But it would ultimately be easier to deal with than the reactions his other cousins and siblings were like to have.

 

"Turkafinwë…" Maedhros ground out, but he was blushing and he could feel what power he held as the older brother, as the upright, upstanding example to his younger siblings and cousins, slipping away. 

 

But Celegorm laughed and clapped him on the back, pulling him in for a one-armed hug, "Ah, brother, you insult me if you think we did not already know. I will merely take this as permission, hmm?" he eyed Aredhel hungrily, and she winked at them. 

Maedhros groaned, put his head in his hands. "Just don't tell father--or uncle. Not yet, please," he whispered. 

 

Celegorm smiled and dipped his head in acquiescence, but there was a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. 

 

Still, Maedhros put his arm around Fingon as they returned to the others. 

 

"How is everyone? Did the Ambarussa ever get to sleep?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

 

Fingon's smile stretched across his face, but he could not help it. His step was, if possible, even lighter then the evening before after Maedhros had agreed—had promised... after what had been said and done. He sighed lightly at Maedhros' warning against their fathers finding out, but certainly saw the wisdom in that for the next several years. For the moment, he would bask in the company of most of his favorite people in all of Valinor and in jubilation of what Maedhros had just agreed to—had just done—in the middle of the forest with him. Aredhel ducked under his arm and smiled up at him, and he leaned down to brush his lips across her forehead. 

 

"Are you happy, brother?" Her voice was the softest breath, barely carrying even to his ears. Fingon shook his head slightly.

 

"There are not words, Irissë. I am—with all of Fëanáro's recent additions to our tongue, there still are not words." He touched his head to hers again, and she squeezed his arm with a smile of her own.

 

Maedhros smiled fondly at Fingon, taking a deep breath as they stepped back into camp. 


	7. Chapter 7

"THERE you are," Caranthir said, accusing, and "Oh good, you’re back," Maglor added, sounding relieved. The Ambarussa were running around in the nude, and Turgon was glowering off to one side as if something had upset him, but otherwise things looked relatively in order.

Maedhros raised his voice. “Yes, sorry we’re late. Who wants breakfast?”

The clamor at the idea of a hot meal—Maedhros’ offers of food usually involved cooking or preparing elaborate multi-course meals, even when camping—was not unexpected: the twins were most eager of all, and ran at Maedhros, giggling and hugging his legs until he scooped them into his arms. “All right, but you’ve got to get dressed first,” he scolded, kissing each of them on the cheek, and they shrieked and scrabbled down to find their clothes.

They moved on to Celegorm, giving him a hug, Aredhel, who they pantomimed a hug to while not actually touching her, and Fingon, whose braids they still viewed as climbing apparati. “Boys!” They dropped down, grappling with one another as they made their way to their packs and, hopefully, their clothing.

"How did you just avoid that?" Celegorm groused at Aredhel. She eyed him up and down.

"Well, there’s something you’d have to lose, and a couple of things you’d have to gain, and they might be more wary of throwing themselves on you while nude."

"Not likely," Celegorm scowled. "Besides," he leaned into her to whisper, "I’m pretty sure you want me with the parts I currently have. Not that I wouldn’t be incredible either way.”

"What can I do to help?" Fingon asked brightly, moving off after Maedhros.

Maedhros smiled at Fingon. “Oh, you could bring me the flour from the carts. I think I will make pancakes. Mm, and a fruit compote to have on top, with fresh cream, and strong tea.” He rummaged through their supplies. “Oh, well, it appears they have already found the tea,” he grumbled, tossing the empty container aside. Caranthir was not an early riser, and was without his morning cup of tea, an absolute terror. Since they traveled with many horses and plenty of gear, Maedhros even had the standing grill father had made for him, which allowed him to cook as if in a kitchen while away. “Curufinwë Atarinkë, get down from there!” he snapped, as the young Curufin climbed into the supply cart, giggling.

Fingon lifted Curufin and gently tossed him away from the cart, searching the somewhat trashed interior for the flour. “Really, Maitimo? Did you expect us to find nothing hunting out here?” He was slightly shocked by the amount of food they had. Nonetheless, he grabbed two bags of flour, knowing how much of Maedhros’ cooking his cousins and siblings would eat if given the opportunity, and made his way to the grill that Maedhros was heating up. He glanced about, noting that all of the others were busy, and as he set the bags down he allowed his fingers to brush across Maedhros’ gently, delighting in the hitched breath the action evoked.

Maedhros bit his lip and blushed, like a shy bride. “Stop that,” he said, though he wanted nothing of the sort. Instead, he stepped closer to Fingon under the pretense of reaching for a large enough bowl to make batter for pancakes to feed a dozen growing elf-children. “You could find me some eggs,” he said quietly, “if there are any that remain uncrushed.” He turned to the assembly. “Does anyone want to go berry-picking?”

"I will," Maglor offered quickly, both to be helpful and—Maedhros could not blame him—to get away from the commotion for a while.

Fingon laughed as the majority of the group followed Maglor, like children trailing after pipers in the city. He shared a grin at Maedhros, and looked up to see Aredhel smirking at him. Feeling light, and free, and completely unlike the firstborn heir he was being groomed into, he rolled his eyes at his sister, provoking her into sticking her tongue out in turn. Maedhros laughed lightly, and Celegorm walked up with a clothed Ambarussa under each arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

"I suppose, if we must." Aredhel grabbed her own basket, and they took off in the same direction as the others. "Have fun, boys."

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!" Celegorm added, laughing.

After strategically sending Finrod off with his sister and Turgon to fetch water, Maedhros found Fingon and himself alone once again. “I am sorry that we were interrupted before,” he said, beginning to stir ingredients into a large bowl by rote, focusing instead on Fingon. “I was only going to add that we might keep what is between us as secret as such a thing can be among our siblings and cousins.” He rolled his eyes.

Fingon laughed, lightly. “I would not be against… keeping you to myself and keeping this private for a time. As private as possible. Though you’ll have to convince Tyelkormo to do so…” He stepped up to Maedhros, leaning against him. After looking around he rose onto his toes to brush a quick kiss to his lips, and then another. “Love you, Russ.” There was delight and a little laughter in his voice, and still he was amazed that he could do this and say such words when Maedhros understood their full meaning. “What next?”

"Tyelkormo can be bought, I think—if dearly. You worry about your sister," he laughed, and pulled Fingon against him briefly. "I love you, Finno," he whispered, lips brushing against Fingon’s forehead before he turned back to the meal. "I will need your help watching the bacon. Can you do that for me?" He began to lay out strips of meat on the large flat stovetop. "You will have the first pancakes—unsullied by nuts or fruit or anything at all flavorful," he teased.

"Irissë is… Irissë. She provides all the excitement that you know younger siblings do, but she would never do anything to harm me. She’ll keep quiet for us." Fingon was comfortable with his assessment, especially given Aredhel’s attachment to his cousins’ family. "Yes, yes. Mmm. Does that mean I get to steal a slice off the stove?" He wandered over to keep an eyes on the food. "Thank you; and unsullied is right. Why should I want to bury the taste of your perfect pancakes with a plethora of unnecessary flavors? Really, with as good a cook as you are you should appreciate food more, Russ." He quickly stepped backwards in case Maedhros tried to elbow him for the comment.

Maedhros laughed, throwing his head back, just as Finrod and Turgon returned with water. “Ah, so new flavor frontiers are too much for Fingon the Valiant,” he said, then dished out pancake mix into different bowls: some for chocolate, some for nuts, some for berries, some for spices, and some, for Galadriel and Fingon, basically, primarily (for of course the Ambarussa always wanted berry pancakes just to get messy). “It’s all right, we all have our demons. Turukano—bring the water here, thanks.” He ruffled Finrod’s hair as the boys brought him the bucket. Mixing batter into the five bowls to the correct consistency, he began as soon as the others arrived with berries.

"I fear no flavors, cousin! I just see no reason to damage my palate on a regular basis." Fingon stuck his tongue out, and ruffled Finrod’s hair as he laughed at the two of them. "You think it’s funny now, but wait until Uncle Arafinwë starts making you try everything offered at the formal dinners. It’s a horrifying experience. I think I permanently burned off parts of my tongue last time.” He shuddered at the thought of excruciatingly hot dishes—one after another. Finrod and Turgon giggled while Maedhros shook his head at the group of them.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a good two hours for the meal to finish. Maedhros and Fingon ate as they cooked, and Maedhros was glad for the help, if he only said it through grateful glances and unnecessary touches. It was another hour before the children and the dishes were washed again, by which time Curufin was hungry again—but there was a large plate of leftovers from breakfast that they could snack on. Maedhros was holding Curufin with his milk and his pancake as Celegorm and Turgon found a few stout poles with which they were now fencing (and of course, things were about to escalate).

Fingon laughed at his cousin’s antics, watching as Ambarussa gleefully observed Celegorm and Turgon bashing one another with sticks. He almost felt bad for Maedhros and what he would have to deal with later. He grabbed a pancake and rolled it up, munching on it as he stood beside Maedhros and Curufin. “What do you think, Russ? Shall we get out there and show them how it’s done?” He gestured towards Celegorm and Turgon with the pancake.

"We should get out there and keep Tyelko from egging your brother into doing something stupid and hurting himself or both of them," he grumbled, standing and shifting Curufin to his hip. "All right, Turkafinwë!" he shouted. "Stop hitting Turukano’s fingers, I can see that you’re doing it. Cheating won’t cover up the fact that your footwork is getting sloppy." The children tittered, and Celegorm glared dangerously.

"Come on, cos’—time to pick on someone your own size!" Fingon ran lightly out, grabbing an extra staff and sticking his tongue out when Maedhros could not see it—Aredhel began laughing, however, as she picked up her own branch and began threatening Turgon with it. "Well, Turko, what now?" He grinned as he began to circle his Fëanorean cousin.

"Shouldn’t I be asking you what you’ve been getting… up to, darling cousin?” Fingon kept his eyes on Celegorm and carefully avoided the temptation to glance at Maedhros. “To answer your question, I suppose I beat you with a stick, Findekáno. Since you’ve asked for it so nicely.” Their eyes were both lit as they traded words as blows and began a series of circle parries, each waiting for the other to move in error.

The purpose of the game was to have control of your body. Actually hitting your opponent with your weapon was a taboo in the sport: you were always supposed to pull back at the last moment. Some of the younger ones could still get away with it, but Celegorm was too old for such pettiness. You could hit with your body, but drawing blood was also taboo. Since it was art as much as battle as much as play, longer rounds were more interesting to watch than quick wins, and therefore “matched” opponents were prized.

Fingon was much better than Celegorm, and they finished the round quickly at 5-1.

"Your footwork, Turko," Maedhros said gently, stepping forward (still holding Curufin). He slipped behind Celegorm and nudged his feet into position. "I know it’s awkward, but movement from this position is easier to control. Also, Findekáno has a weaker defense on his left." He smirked and Fingon. "Again," he said, stepping back.

The next round ended in 5-3.

You wound me, Russandol! Betrayer! Faithless friend! Betraying me to mine enemy on the field of battle?” Fingon clutched a hand to his heart and dropped to his knees, head hanging. Then he jumped up, stick pointed towards Maedhros. “Wilt thou defend thyself on the field of honor, or shall I call thee craven?” His words and posturing were overdramatic, but made the younger children laugh and giggle, and he turned and bowed to them with a smile. Even Celegorm and Maglor seemed to find this call to sparring amusing, though Maglor was better at hiding his emotions—or at least not making such a fuss with them.

Maedhros grinned at Fingon’s antics, but turned solemnly to Celegorm. “Will you trade me weapons, brother?” he asked. “If I should fall, throw Curufinwë at them with all you’ve got.”

Curufin wriggled in his arms. “Maitimooooo, you’re meeeeannn,” he said, clinging tightly to Celegorm’s neck as they traded burdens. “Tukko, don’ trow meeeee!”

Celegorm held Curufin close. “Well, we better hope Maitimo wins then, huh?” he continued to tease.

The Ambarussa now clamored at Celegorm’s legs. “Us! Us!” they cried, imagining that being thrown would be fun.

"All right, all right, back up," Maedhros said, shooing them as he shook out his arms and legs and cracked his neck. He spun the stick, testing its weight. "I’m here to defend our family’s honor," he said with a grin, readying himself for Fingon.

"Uh huh… of course, that’s what’s been on your mind all day." Fingon took a moment to tie his braids close behind his neck, and tossed his stick lightly. "Well then, it looks like everything’s sorted out." The children were settling about Celegorm, who seemed a little less than pleased with three of them attached to him. "Are you ready to find out what it takes for me to fall upon your rod, or what might lead to your fall upon mine?" No one was behind Maedhros, so he winked at him discretely.

Maedhros flushed, but managed to school his features neutrally enough for his siblings and cousins. “Finno,” he growled, “you know not of what you speak.” But when Fingon attack, he could only barely protect himself, the sticks clacking dangerously close to his head, and he was forced to use his greater size to his advantage, spoiling Fingon’s impeccable footwork.

Fingon gave ground, stepping back before beginning to circle Maedhros again. They were a slight distance from the others, where the younger children would not get hit if they escaped their minders for a minute. “My apologies, Russ,” he murmured, sliding past a blow as he deflected it. “I suppose you wouldn’t want me to fall upon it; you wish to bring me down with it and watch me yield.” He dove forward and quickly moved back as Maedhros blocked him and moved on the offensive. “Would you spear me?” he asked before lunging towards Maedhros. “Have me writhing on your rod? Perhaps I should let you take me.”

" Findekáno!" Maedhros gasped, forgetting where they were and forgetting what he was doing, as Fingon brought his stick swinging down to hover an inch above his thigh.

"One," Fingon said, still managing to sound far too seductive.

Maedhros growled, resetting himself mind and body—and resolve. “Watch your tongue, cousin. Or shall I teach you what to do with it?” He spun his weapon, distracting enough to force his leg behind Fingon’s, which disturbed his balance enough that Maedhros could lay his stick against Fingon’s neck. “One-one,” he said.

"Well played!" Fingon called out. And leaned towards Maedhros before he removed the stick to begin the next round. "I am your bold one, Nelyafinwë, and I cannot simply roll over for someone… but for you—for you I think I could yield and be as Melkor before Manwë in the Circle of Doom." He stepped away, beginning to raise his stick into a ready position. "Would you have me naked, bound, and kneeling before you?"

It took everything in him (and he gave up another point: two-one) to ignore how very much he might like something like that. He could not speak, so he replied by knocking Fingon flat on his back and bringing the score to two-two. “I would prefer you flat on your back, eating your shameful words,” he said, staring down the length of his weapon.

Fingon raised himself on his elbows and let his spine arch and his head fall back, putting him in a perfectly submission position for a brief instant before he rolled away and got to his feet. “Ah, Russ, once you have me on my back, why waste time making me eat my words? In such a position, I think we would both prefer that I were eating you.” It gained Fingon a point, and now he could see a slight flush creeping up Maedhros’ neck that was not disappearing. To the others it would appear to be nothing except the flush of exercise, but Fingon noted how the color changes were tied to his words.

"They can hear you," Maedhros hissed as he leaned in to help Fingon to his feet. "But if you can only beat me by taunting me, please, carry on," he stepped back and bowed before standing at the ready again.

"They hear nothing—Ambarussa just threw a blueberry slathered pancake in Turgon’s face; why would they be trying to overhear us?" He danced back, going back to circling this time instead of immediately attacking. "Grandfather told me that in Beleriand our people learned to use every advantage to stay alive. You have your strength, your well-formed body, and I, at the moment, have my words." Maedhros did not appear to appreciate his way of thinking. "If you wish to stop my mouth there are better ways to do so than insults. Celegorm could probably give you pointers, given the looks he and Irissë have been sharing." And for the coup de grace, "besides, is it truly taunting if I mean everything I offer and say?"

"And you think I do not?" Maedhros growled, driving Fingon back with relentless strikes from weapon and body. "If you wish me to tame and train you, Finno, you have it. I will break you down and build you back up as I wish. Would you like that?" A feint to the right and a firm pin resulted in another point: Maedhros leading by one. "Then again, I like it when you test me," he grinned, breath hot in Fingon’s ear.

Fingon gasped, trying to control his body as he sparred with his cousin before a good portion of their families. “Break me then, if you so dare.” His eyes pierced Maedhros as he stared at them, voice low and terse. “Would you throw me down and use me roughly and in haste that I might surrender my hröa to your own pleasure? But you would not have to break me to do so, my love; I would yield it gladly if you would have of it. And if you like when I test you then answer me this- how do you have me before you, in your most secret of dreams? And how have you broken me in them?”

Maedhros shook his head, torn between grinning and snarling (Fingon pretended not to be just like his demonic little brothers, but it was all a farce), and slipped his legs around Fingon’s, bringing him to the ground without so much as a struggle. Maedhros came down on top, limbs locked around Fingon’s, trapping him, and his stick flat against Fingon’s throat. He pressed down lightly—not enough to restrict breathing (though perhaps a warning that he could), but enough that his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Like this,” he whispered: “Five-three, the match is mine.”

But it took a pointed cough from Celegorm before Maedhros released Fingon.


End file.
